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CQEmiGHT DEPOSm ^. /*v 



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THE VEIL 

and other 

POEMS 

By 
WALTER DE LA MARE 




New York 
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 

1922 






/^ 2- 



COPTBIQHT, 1922, 
BY 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 



/ 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OT AMEBIC* 



0)C!.A659068^ 









J 



NOTE 

Seven of the poems included in this collection were 
written for Drawings by Miss Pamela Bianco, 
and were first published by Mr. Heinemann in a 
volume entitled Flora. The author's thanks are 
due to Mr. Sydney Pawling for permission to 
reprint these poems; to Mr. Cyril Beaumont for 
the use of 'Tidings' from a Play for Children, 
entitled Crossings; and, for permission to include 
several other poems, to the Editors of the London 
Mercury, the New Republic, the Spectator, the 
Nation, the Century Magazine, the Cambridge 
Magazine, the Literary Review, the Sphere, the 
New Statesman, the Bookman^s Journal, the 
Broom, the Outlook, the Athenceum, and the 
Westminster Gazette. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Imp Within 3 

The Old Angler 5 

The Willow .10 

Titmouse 11 

The Veil 12 

The Fairy in Winter .13 

The Flower 14 

Before Dawn 15 

The Spectre 17 

The Voice 18 

The Hour-glass 19 

In the Dock . . • 20 

The Wreck 21 

The Suicide 22 

Drugged 23 

Who's That? 25 

Hospital 26 

A Sign .28 

Good-bye 30 

The Monologue 31 

Awake! 34 

Forgiveness . 35 

The Moth 36 

Not That Way 37 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Crazed 39 

Fog 40 

SOTTO VOCE 42 

The Imagination's Pride 44 

The Wanderers 46 

The Corner Stone 48 

The Spirit of Air 50 

The Unfinished Dream 51 

Music 54 

Tidings 56 

The Son of Melancholy 57 

The Quiet Enemy 60 

The Familiar 61 

Maerchen 63 

Gold 64 

Mirage 65 

Flotsam 67 

Mourn'st Thou Now? 68 

The Galuass 69 

The Decoy 70 

Sunk Lyonesse 71 

The Catechism 72 

Futility 73 

Bitter Waters 74 

Who? 76 

A Riddle 77 

The Owl 79 

The Last Coachload 80 

An Epitaph 84 



THE VEIL AND OTHER POEMS 



THE IMP WITHIN 



'R 



OUSE now, my dullard, and thy wits awake; 
'Tis first of the morning. And I bid thee make — 
No, not a vow; we have munched our fill of these 
From crock of bone-dry crusts and mouse-gnawn 

cheese — 
Nay, just one whisper in that long, long ear — 
Awake; rejoice. Another Day is here: — 

'A virgin wilderness, which, hour by hour, 
Mere happy idleness shall bring to flower. 
Barren and arid though its sands now seem, 
Wherein oasis becks not, shines no stream. 
Yet wake — and lo, 'tis lovelier than a dream. 

'Plunge on, thy every footprint shall make fair 
Its thirsty waste; and thy foregone despair 
Undarken into sweet birds in the air, 
Whose coursing wings and love-crazed summoning 

cries 
Into infinity shall attract thine eyes. 



THE IMP WITHIN 

*No . . . ? Well, lest promise in performance 

faint, 
A less inviting prospect will I paint. 
I bid thee adjure thy Yesterday, and say: 
"As thou wast, Enemy, so be To-day. — 
Immure me in the same close narrow room; 
Be hated toil the lamp to light its gloom; 
Make stubborn my pen; sift dust into my ink; 
Forbid mine eyes to see, my brain to think. 
Scare off the words whereon the mind is set. 
Make memory the power to forget. 
Constrain imagination; bind its wing; 
Forbid the unseen Enchantresses to sing. 
Ay, do thy worst!" 

*Vexed Spectre, prythee smile. 
Even though that yesterday was bleak and sour. 
Art thou a slave beneath its thong to cower? 
Thou hast survived. And hither am I — again, 
Kindling with mockery thy o'erlaboured brain. 
Though scant the moments be wherein we meet, 
Think, what dark months would even one make 
sweet. 

'Thy quill? Thy paper? Ah, my dear, be true. 
Come quick To-morrow. Until then, Adieu.' 



THE OLD ANGLER 



X WILIGHT leaned mirrored in a pool 
Where willow boughs swept green and hoar, 

Silk-clear the water, calm and cool, 
Silent the weedy shore: 

There in abstracted, brooding mood 
One fishing sate. His painted float 

Motionless as a planet stood; 
Motionless his boat. 

A melancholy soul was this, 

With lantern jaw, gnarled hand, vague eye; 
Huddled in pensive solitariness 

He had fished existence by. 

Empty his creel; stolen his bait — 

Impassively he angled on, 
Though mist now showed the evening late 

And daylight well-nigh gone. 

Suddenly, like a tongueless bell. 

Downward his gaudy cork did glide; 

A deep, low-gathering, gentle swell 
Spread slowly far and wide. 
5 



THE OLD ANGLER 

Wheeped out his tackle from noiseless winch, 
And furtive as a thief, his thumb, 

With nerve intense, wound inch by inch 
A line no longer numb. 

What fabulous spoil could thus unplayed 
Gape upward to a mortal air? — 

He stoops engrossed; his tanned cheek greyed; 
His heart stood still: for there, 

Wondrously fairing, beneath the skin 

Of secretly bubbling water seen, 
Swims — not the silver of scale and fin — 

But gold immixt with green. 

Deeply astir in oozy bed. 

The darkening mirror ripples and rocks: 
And lo — a wan-pale, lovely head, 

Hook tangled in its locks! 

Cold from her haunt — a Naiad slim. 

Shoulder and cheek gleamed ivory white; 
Though now faint stars stood over him. 

The hour hard on night. 

Her green eyes gazed like one half-blind 

In sudden radiance; her breast 
Breathed the sweet air, while gently twined, 

'Gainst the cold water pressed, 
6 



THE OLD ANGLER 

Her lean webbed hands. She floated there. 
Light as a scentless petalled flower. 

Water-drops dewing from her hair 
In tinkling beadlike shower. 

So circling sidelong, her tender throat 
Uttered a grieving, desolate wail; 

Shrill o'er the dark pool lapsed its note. 
Piteous as nightingale. 

Ceased Echo. And he? — a life's remorse 
Welled to a tongue unapt to charm, 

But never a word broke harsh and hoarse 
To quiet her alarm. 

With infinite stealth his twitching thumb 
Tugged softly at the tautened gut, 

Bubble-light, fair, her lips now dumb, 
She moved, and struggled not; 

But with set, wild, unearthly eyes 

Pale-gleaming, fixed as if in fear. 
She couched in the water, with quickening sighs. 
And floated near. 

In hollow heaven the stars were at play; 

Wan glow-worms greened the pool-side grass; 
Dipped the wide-bellied boat. His prey 

Gazed on; nor breathed. Alas! — 
7 



THE OLD ANGLER 

Long sterile years had come and gone; 

Youth, like a distant dream, was sped; 
Heart, hope, and eyes had hungered on. . . . 

He turned a shaking head, 

And clumsily groped amid the gold, 

Sleek with night dews, of that tangling hair, 

Till pricked his finger keen and cold 
The barb imbedded there. 

Teeth clenched, he drew his knife — 'Snip, snip,' — 
Groaned, and sate shivering back; and she. 

Treading the water with birdlike dip, 
Shook her sweet shoulders free: 

Drew backward, smiling, infatuate fair. 

His life's disasters in her eyes. 
All longing and folly, grief, despair. 

Daydreams and mysteries. 

She stooped her brow; laid low her cheek. 
And, steering on that silk-tressed craft. 

Out from the listening, leaf-hung creek. 
Tossed up her chin, and laughed — 



tHE OLD ANGLER 

A mocking, icy, inhuman note. 

One instant flashed that crystal breast, 
Leaned, and was gone. Dead-still the boat: 

And the deep dark at rest. 

Flits moth to flower. A water-rat 
Noses the placid ripple. And lo! 

Streams a lost meteor. Night is late. 
And daybreak zephyrs flow. . . . 

And he — the cheated? Dusk till mom. 
Insensate, even of hope forsook, 

He muttering squats, aloof, forlorn. 
Dangling a baitless hook. 



THE WILLOW 



J_jEANS now the fair willow, dreaming 

Amid her locks of green. 

In the driving snow she was parched and cold, 

And in midnight hath been 

Swept by blasts of the void night, 

Lashed by the rains. 

Now of that wintry dark and bleak 

No memory remains. 

In mute desire she sways softly; 

Thrilling sap up-flows; 

She praises God in her beauty and grace, 

Whispers delight. And there flows 

A delicate wind from the Southern seas. 

Kissing her leaves. She sighs. 

While the birds in her tresses make merry; 

Burns the Sun in the skies. 



10 



TITMOUSE 



I 



F you would happy company win, 
Dangle a palm-nut from a tree, 
Idly in green to sway and spin. 
Its snow-pulped kernel for bait; and see, 
A nimble titmouse enter in. 



Out of earth's vast unknown of air, 
Out of all summer, from wave to wave. 
He'll perch, and prank his feathers fair. 
Jangle a glass-clear wildering stave, 
And take his commons there — 

This tiny son of life; this spright. 
By momentary Human sought, 
Plume will his wing in the dappling light, 
Clash timbrel shrill and gay — 
And into time's enormous nought, 
Sweet-fed, will flit away. 



U 



THE VEIL 



I 



THINK and think; yet still I fail- 
Why does this lady wear a veil? 
Why thus elect to mask her face 
Beneath that dainty web of lace? 
The tip of a small nose I see, 
And two red lips, set curiously 
Like twin-born cherries on one stem, 
And yet she has netted even them. 
Her eyes, it's plain, survey with ease 
Whatever to glance upon they please. 
Yet, whether hazel, grey, or blue, 
Or that even lovelier lilac hue, 
I cannot guess: why — why deny 
Such beauty to the passer-by? 
Out of a bush a nightingale 
May expound his song; beneath that veil 
A happy mouth no doubt can make 
English sound sweeter for its sake. 
But then, why muffle in, like this. 
What every blossomy wind would kiss? 
Why in that little night disguise 
A daybreak face, those starry eyes? 



12 



THE FAIRY IN WINTER 

(For a drawing by Dorothy Puvis Lathrop) 

X HERE was a Fairy — flake of winter — 
Who, when the snow came, whispering, Silence, 
Sister crystal to crystal sighing, 
Making of meadow argent palace, 

Night a star-sown solitude. 
Cried 'neath her frozen eaves, 'I burn here!' 

Wings diaphanous, beating bee-like. 

Wand within fingers, locks enspangled. 

Icicle foot, lip sharp as scarlet, 

She lifted her eyes in her pitch-black hollow — 

Green as stalks of weeds in water — 

Breathed: stirred. 

Rilled from her heart the ichor, coursing, 
Flamed and awoke her slumbering magic. 
Softlier than moth's her pinions trembled ; 
Out into blackness, light-like, she flittered. 
Leaving her hollow cold, forsaken. 

In air, o'er crystal, rang twangling night-wind. 
Bare, rimed pine-woods murmured lament. 
13 



THE FLOWER 



H( 



.ORIZON to horizon, lies outspread 
The tenting firmament of day and night; 
Wherein are winds at play; and planets shed 
Amid the stars their gentle gliding light. 

The huge world's sun flames on the snow-capped 

hills; 
Cindrous his heat burns in the sandy plain ; 
With myriad spume-bows roaring ocean swills 
The cold profuse abundance of the rain. 

And man — a transient object in this vast, 
Sighs o'er a universe transcending thought, 
AflBicted by vague bodings of the past, 
Driven toward a future, unforeseen, unsought. 

Yet, see him, stooping low to naked weed 
That meeks its blossom in his anxious eye, 
Mark how he grieves, as if his heart did bleed, 
And wheels his wondrous features to the sky; 
As if, transfigured by so small a grace, 
He sought Companion in earth's dwelling-place. 



14 



BEFORE DAWN 



n 



'IM-BERRIED is the mistletoe 
With globes of sheenless grey. 
The holly mid ten thousand thorns 
Smoulders its fires away; 
And in the manger Jesu sleeps 
This Christmas Day. 

Bull unto bull with hollow throat 
Makes echo every hill, 
Cold sheep in pastures thick with snow 
The air with bleatings fill; 
While of his mother's heart this Babe 
Takes His sweet will. 

All flowers and butterflies lie hid, 
The blackbird and the thrush 
Pipe but a little as they flit 
Restless from bush to bush; 
Even to the robin Gabriel hath 
Cried softly, 'Hush!' 



15 



BEFORE DAWN 

Now night is astir with burning stars 
In darkness of the snow; 
Burdened with frankincense and myrrh 
And gold the Strangers go 
Into a dusk where one dim lamp 
Burns faintly, Lo! 

No snowdrop yet its small head nods, 
In winds of winter drear; 
No lark at casement in the sky 
Sings matins shrill and clear; 
Yet in this frozen mirk the Dawn 
Breathes, Spring is here! 



16 



THE SPECTRE 



I 



N cloudy quiet of the day. 
While thrush and robin perched mute on spray, 
A spectre by the window sat. 
Brooding thereat. 

He marked the greenness of the Spring, 
Daffodil blowing, bird a-wing — 
Yet dark the house the years had made 
Within that Shade. 

Blinded the rooms wherein no foot falls. 
Faded the portraits on the walls. 
Reverberating, shakes the air 
A river there. 

Coursing in flood, its infinite roars; 
From pit to pit its water pours; 
And he, with countenance unmoved. 
Hears cry: — 'Beloved, 

'Oh, ere the day be utterly spent, 
Return, return, from banishment. 
The night thick-gathers. Weep a prayer 
For the true and fair.' 

17 



THE VOICE 



W. 



E are not often alone, we two,' 
Mused a secret voice in my ear. 
As the dying hues of afternoon 
Lapsed into evening drear. 

A withered leaf, wafted on in the street, 
Like a wayless spectre, sighed; 
Aslant on the roof-tops a sickly moon 
Did mutely abide. 

Yet waste though the shallowing day might seem, 
And fainter than hope its rose. 
Strangely that speech in my thoughts welled on; 
As water in-flows: 

Like remembered words once heard in a room 
Wherein death kept far-away tryst; 
*Not often alone, we two ; but thou, 
How sorely missed!' 



18 



THE HOUR-GLASS 

X HOU who know'st all the sorrows of this 

earth — 
I pray Thee, ponder, ere again Thou turn 
Thine hour-glass over again, since one sole birth. 
To poor clay-cold humanity, makes yearn 
A heart at passion with life's endless coil. 
Thou givest thyself too strait a room therein. 
For so divine a tree too poor a soil. 
For so great agony what small peace to win. 
Cast from that Ark of Heaven which is Thy home 
The raven of hell may wander without fear; 
But sadly wings the dove o'er floods to roam. 
Nought but one tender sprig his eyes to cheer. 
Nay, Lord, I speak in parables. But see! 
Tis stricken Man in Men that pleads with Thee. 



19 



IN THE DOCK 

JTALLID, mis-shapen he stands. The world's 

grimed thumb, 
Now hooked securely in his matted hair. 
Has haled him struggling from his poisonous slum 
And flung him mute as fish close-netted there. 
His bloodless hands entalon that iron rail. 
He gloats in beastlike trance. His settling eyes 
From staring face to face rove on — and quail. 
Justice for carrion pants; and these the flies. 
Voice after voice in smooth impartial drone 
Erects horrific in his darkening brain 
A timber framework, where agape, alone 
Bright life will kiss good-bye the cheek of Cain. 
Sudden like wolf he cries; and sweats to see 
When howls man's soul, it howls inaudibly. 



20 



THE WRECK 



OTORM and unconscionable winds once cast 

On grinding shingle, masking gap-toothed rock, 

This ancient hulk. Rent hull, and broken mast, 

She sprawls sand-mounded, of sea birds the mock. 

Her sailors, drowned, forgotten, rot in mould. 

Or hang in stagnant quiet of the deep; 

The brave, the afraid into one silence sold; 

Their end a memory fainter than of sleep. 

She held good merchandise. She paced in pride 

The uncharted paths men trace in ocean's foam. 

Now laps the ripple in her broken side, 

And zephyr in tamarisk softly whispers, Home. 

The dreamer scans her in the sea-blue air. 

And, sipping of contrast, finds the day more fair. 



21 



THE SUICIDE 



Di 



'ID these night-hung houses, 
Of quiet, starlit stone, 
Breathe not a whisper — 'Stay, 
Thou unhappy one; 
Whither so secret away?' 

Sighed not the unfriending wind, 
Chill with nocturnal dew, 
'Pause, pause, in thy haste, 
O thou distraught! I too 
Tryst Avith the Atlantic waste.' 

Steep fell the drowsy street; 
In slumber the world was blind: 
Breathed not one midnight flower 
Peace in thy broken mind? — 
'Brief, yet sweet, is life's hour.' 

Syllabled thy last tide — 
By as dark moon stirred. 
And doomed to forlorn unrest — 
Not one compassionate word? , . 
'Cold is this breast.' 



22 



DRUGGED 



I 



NERT in his chair, 
In a candle's guttering glow; 
His bottle empty. 
His fire sunk low; 
With drug-sealed lids shut fast, 
Unsated mouth ajar, 
This darkened phantasm walks 
Where nightmares are: 



'O* 



In a frenzy of life and light, 
Crisscross' — a menacing throng — 
They gibe, they squeal at the stranger. 
Jostling along, 
Their faces cadaverous grey. 
While on high from an attic stare 
Horrors, in beauty apparelled, 
Down the dark air. 

A stream gurgles over its stones, 
The chambers within are a-fire. 
Stumble his shadowy feet 
Through shine, through mire; 
And the flames leap higher. 

23 



DRUGGED 

In vain yelps the wainscot mouse; 
In vain beats the hour; 
Vacant, his body must drowse 
Until daybreak flower — 

Staining these walls with its rose, 

And the draughts of the morning shall stir 

Cold on cold brow, cold hands. 

And the wanderer 

Back to flesh house must return. 

Lone soul — in horror to see. 

Than dream more meagre and awful. 

Reality. 



24 



WHO'S THAT? 



Wi 



HO'S that? Who's that? . . . 
Oh, only a leaf on the stone; 
And the sigh of the air in the fire. 

Yet it seemed, as I sat, 
Came company — not my own; 
Stood there, with ardent gaze over dark, bowed 
shoulder thrown 
Till the dwindling flames leaped higher. 
And showed fantasy flown. 

Yet though the cheat is clear — 
From transient illusion grown; 
In the vague of my mind those eyes 

Still haunt me. One stands so near 
I could take his hand, and be gone: — 
No more in this house of dreams to sojourn aloof, 
alone: 
Could sigh, with full heart, and arise. 
And choke, 'Lead on.' 



25 



HOSPITAL 

Welcome! Enter ! This is the Inn at the 

Cross Roads, 
Sign of the Rising Sun, of the World's End: 
Ay, O Wanderer, footsore, weary, forsaken. 
Knock, and we will open to thee — Friend. 

Gloomy our stairs of stone, obscure the portal; 
Burdened the air with a breath from the further 

shore; 
Yet in our courtyard plays an invisible fountain. 
Ever flowers unfading nod at the door. 

Ours is much company, and yet none is lonely; 
Some with a smile may pay and some with a sigh; 
So all be healed, restored, contented — it is no 
matter — 
So all be happy at heart to bid good-bye. 

But know, our clocks are the world's ; Night's wings 

are leaden, 
Pain languidly sports with the hours; have 

courage, sir! 
We wake but to bring thee slumber, our drowsy 
syrups 
Sleep beyond dreams on the weary will confer. 
26 



HOSPITAL 

Ghosts may be ours; but gaze thou not too closely 
If haply in chill of the dark thou rouse to see 
One silent of foot, hooded, and hollow of visage. 
Pause, with secret eyes, to peer out at thee. 

He is the Ancient Tapster of this Hostel, 
To him at length even we all keys must resign; 
And if he beckon. Stranger, thou too must follow — 
Love and all peace be thine. 



27 



A SIGN 



H( 



Low shall I know when the end of things is 
coming? 
The dark swifts flitting, the drone-bees humming; 
The fly on the window-pane bedazedly strumming; 
Ice on the waterbrooks their clear chimes dumb- 
ing— 
How shall I know that the end of things is coming? 

The stars in their stations will shine glamorous in 

the black; 
Emptiness, as ever, haunt the great Star Sack; 
And Venus, proud and beautiful, go down to meet 

the day, 
Pale in phosphorescence of the green sea spray — 
How shall I know that the end of things is coming? 

Head asleep on pillow; the peewits at their crying; 
A strange face in dreams to my rapt phantasma 

sighing; 
Silence beyond words of anguished passion; 
Or stammering an answer in the tongue's cold 

fashion — 
How shall I know that the end of things is coming? 
28 



A SIGN 

Haply on strange roads I shall be, the moorland's 

peace around me; 
Or counting up a fortune to which Destiny hath 

bound me; 
Or — Vanity of Vanities^the honey of the Fair; 
Or a greybeard, lost to memory, on the cobbles in 

my chair — 
How shall I know that the end of things is coming? 

The drummers will be drumming; the fiddlers at 
their thrumming; 

Nuns at their beads; the mummers at their mum- 
ming; 

Heaven's solemn Seraph stoopt weary o'er his 
summing; 

The palsied fingers plucking, the way-worn feet 
nmnbing — 

And the end of things coming. 



29 



GOOD-BYE 



X HE last of last words spoken is, Good-bye — 
The last dismantled flower in the weed-grown hedge, 
The last thin rumour of a feeble bell far ringing. 
The last blind rat to spurn the mildewed rye. 

A hardening darkness glasses the haunted eye, 
Shines into nothing the watcher's burnt-out candle, 
Wreathes into scentless nothing the wasting incense, 
Faints in the outer silence the hunting cry. 

Love of its muted music breathes no sigh, 
Thought in her ivory tower gropes in her spinning. 
Toss on in vain the whispering trees of Eden, 
Last of all last words spoken is, Good-bye. 



SO 



THE MONOLOGUE 

X1.LAS, O Lovely One, 

Imprisoned here, 
I tap; thou answerest not, 
I doubt, and fear. 
Yet transparent as glass these walls, 
If thou lean near. 

Last dusk, at those high bars 

There came, scarce-heard, 
Claws, fluttering feathers. 
Of deluded bird — 
With one shrill, scared, faint note 
The silence stirred. 

Rests in that corner. 

In puff of dust, a straw — 

Vision of harvest-fields 
I never saw. 
Of strange green streams and hills. 
Forbidden by law. 



31 



THE MONOLOGUE 

These things I whisper. 
For I see — in mind — 
Thy caged cheek whiten 
At the wail of wind, 
That thin breast wasting; unto 
Woe resigned. 

Take comfort, listen! 

Once we twain were free; 
There was a Country — 

Lost the memory . . . 
Lay thy cold brow on hand. 

And dream with me. 

Awaits me torture, 

I have smelt their rack; 
From spectral groaning wheel 

Have turned me back; 
Thumbscrew and boot, and then- 

The yawning sack. 

Lean closer, then; 

Lay palm on stony wall. 
Let but thy ghost beneath 

Thine eyelids call: 
'Courage, my brother,' Nought 

Can then appal. 



32 



THE MONOLOGUE 

Yet coward, coward am I, 

And drink I must 
When clanks the pannikin 

With the longed-for crust; 
Though heart within is sour 

With disgust. 

Long hours there are, 

When mutely tapping — well, 
Is it to Vacancy 

I these tidings tell? 
Knock these numb fingers against 

An empty cell? 

Nay, answer not. 

Let still mere longing make 
Thy presence sure to me. 

While in doubt I shake: 
Be but my Faith in thee, 

For sanity's sake. 



33 



AWAKE! 

W HY hath the rose faded and fallen, yet these 

eyes have not seen? 
Why hath the bird sung shrill in the tree — and 

this mind deaf and cold? 
Why have the rains of summer veiled her flowers 

with their sheen 
And this black heart untold? 

Here is calm Autumn now, the woodlands quake. 
And, where this splendour of death lies under the 

tread, 
The spectre of frost will stalk, and a silence make, 
And snow's white shroud be spread. 

Self! self! Wake from thy common sleep! 
Fling off the destroyer's net. He hath blinded 

and bound thee. 
In nakedness sit; pierce thy stagnation, and 

weep; 
Or corrupt in thy grave — all Heaven around 

thee. 



34 



FORGIVENESS 



'0 



THY flamed cheek, 
Those locks with weeping wet, 
Eyes that, forlorn and meek, 
On mine are set. 

*Poor hands, poor feeble wings, 
Folded, a-droop, sad! 
See, 'tis my heart that sings 
To make thee glad. 

'My mouth breathes love, thou dear. 
All that I am and know 
Is thine. My breast — draw near: 
Be grieved not so!' 



35 



THE MOTH 



I 



SLED in the midnight air, 
Musked with the dark's faint bloom, 
Out into glooming and secret haunts 
The flame cries, 'Come!' 



Lovely in dye and fan, 
A-tremble in shimmering grace, 
A moth from her winter swoon 
Uplifts her face: 

Stares from her glamorous eyes; 
Wafts her on plumes like mist; 
In ecstasy swirls and sways 
To her strange tryst. 



36 



NOT THAT WAY 



N 



0, no. Guard thee. Get thee gone. 

Not that way. 

See; the louring clouds glide on, 

Skirting West to South; and see, 

The green light under that sycamore tree — 

Not that way. 

There the leaden trumpets blow. 

Solemn and slow. 
There the everlasting walls 
Frown above the waterfalls 

Silver and cold; 

Timelessly old: 

Not that way. 

Not toward Death, who, stranger, fairer. 
Than any siren turns his head — 
Than sea-couched siren, arched with rain- 
bows, 
Where knell the waves of her ocean bed. 



37 



NOT THAT WAY 

Alas, that beauty hangs her flowers 
For lure of his demoniac powers : 
Alas, that from these eyes should dart 
Such piercing summons to thy heart; 
That mine in frenzy of longing beats. 
Still lusting for these gross deceits. 
Not that way! 



38 



CRAZED 



I 



KNOW a pool where nightshade preens 
Her poisonous fruitage in the moon; 
Where the frail aspen her shadow leans 
In midnight cold a-swoon. 

I know a meadow flat with gold — 
A million million burning flowers 
In noon-Sim's thirst their buds unfold 
Beneath his blazing showers. 

I saw a crazed face, did I, 
Stare from the lattice of a mill. 
While the lank sails clacked idly by 
High on the windy hill. 



39 



FOG 

OTAGNANT this wintry gloom. Afar 
The farm-cock bugles his 'Qui vive?' 
The towering elms are lost in mist; 
Birds in the thorn-trees huddle a- whist; 
The mill-race waters grieve. 
Our shrouded day 
Dwindles away 
To final black of eve. 

Beyond these shades in space of air 
Ride exterrestrial beings by? 
Their colours burning rich and fair, 
Where noon's sunned valleys lie? 
With inaudible music are they sweet — 
Bell, hoof, soft lapsing cry? 

Turn marvellous faces, each to each? — 
Lips innocent of sigh, 
Or groan or fear, sorrow and grief. 
Clear brow and falcon eye; 
Bare foot, bare shoulder in the heat. 
And hair like flax? Do their horses beat 
Their way through wildernesses infinite 
Of starry-crested trees, blue sward, 
40 



FOG 

And gold-chasm'd mountain, steeply shored 
O'er lakes of sapphire dye? 

Mingled with lisping speech, faint laughter, 

Echoes the Phoenix' scream of joyance 
Mounting on high? — 

Light-bathed vistas and divine sweet mirth, 

Beyond dream of spirits penned to earth, 

Condemned to pine and die? . . . 

Hath serving Nature, bidden of the gods. 
Thick-screened Man's narrow sky. 
And hung these Stygian veils of fog 

To hide his dingied sty? — 
The gods who yet, at mortal birth, 

Bequeathed him Fantasy? 



41 



SOTTO VOCE 
(To Edward Thomas) 

A HE haze of noon wanned silver-grey 
The soundless mansion of the sun; 
The air made visible in his ray, 
Like molten glass from furnace run, 
Quivered o'er heat-baked turf and stone 
And the flower of the gorse burned on — 
Burned softly as gold of a child's fair hair 
Along each spiky spray, and shed 
Almond-like incense in the air 
Whereon our senses fed. 

At foot — a few sparse harebells: blue 
And still as were the friend's dark eyes 
That dwelt on mine, transfixed through 
With sudden ecstatic surmise. 

*Hst!' he cried softly, smiling, and lo. 
Stealing amidst that maze gold-green, 
I heard a whispering music flow 
From guileful throat of bird, unseen: — 



42 



SOTTO VOCE 

So delicate the straining ear 
Scarce carried its faint syllabling 
Into a heart caught-up to hear 
That inmost pondering 
Of bird-like self with self. We stood, 
In happy trance-like solitude, 
Hearkening a lullay grieved and sweet — 
As when on isle uncharted beat 
'Gainst coral at the palm-tree's root. 
With brine-clear, snow-white foam afloat, 
The wailing, not of water or wind — 
A husht, far, wild, divine lament, 
When Prospero his wizardry bent 
Winged Ariel to bind. . . . 

Then silence, and o'er-flooding noon. 

I raised my head; smiled too. And he — 

Moved his great hand, the magic gone — 

Gently amused to see 

My ignorant wonderment. He sighed. 

'It was a nightingale,' he said, 

'That sotto voce cons the song 

He'll sing when dark is spread; 

And Night's vague hours are sweet and long. 

And we are laid abed.' 



43 



THE IMAGINATION'S PRIDE 



B 



E not too wildly amorous of the far, 

Nor lure thy fantasy to its utmost scope. 
Read by a taper when the needling star 

Burns red with menace in heaven's midnight 
cope. 
Friendly thy body: guard its solitude. 

Sure shelter is thy heart. It once had rest 
Where founts miraculous thy lips endewed, 

Yet nought loomed further than thy mother's 
breast. 

brave adventure! Ay, at danger slake 

Thy thirst, lest life in thee should, sickening, 
quail ; 
But not toward nightmare goad a mind awake. 

Nor to forbidden horizons bend thy sail — 
Seductive outskirts whence in trance prolonged 

Thy gaze, at stretch of what is sane-secure. 
Dreams out on steeps by shapes demoniac thronged 

And vales wherein alone the dead endure. 



44 



THE IMAGINATION'S PRIDE 

Nectarous those flowers, yet with venom sweet. 

Thick- juiced with poison hang those fruits that 
shine 
Where sick phantasmal moonbeams brood and beat, 

And dark imaginations ripe the vine. 
Bethink thee: every enticing league thou wend 

Beyond the mark where life its bound hath set 
Will lead thee at length where human pathways 
end 

And the dark enemy spreads his maddening net. 

Comfort thee, comfort thee. Thy Father knows 

How wild man's ardent spirit, fainting, yearns 
For mortal glimpse of death's immortal rose, 

The garden where the invisible blossom burns. 
Humble thy trembling knees; confess thy pride; 

Be weary. 0, whithersoever thy vaunting rove, 
His deepest wisdom harbours in thy side, 

In thine own bosom hides His utmost love. 



45 



THE WANDERERS 



W. 



ITHIN my mind two spirits strayed 
From out their still and purer air, 
And there a moment's sojourn made; 
As lovers will in woodlands bare. 
Nought heeded they where now they stood. 
Since theirs its alien solitude 
Beyond imagination fair. 

The light an earthly candle gives 
When it is quenched leaves only dark; 
Theirs yet in clear remembrance lives 
And, still within, I whispered, 'Hark;' 
As one who faintly on high has heard 
The call note of a hidden bird 
Even sweeter than the lark. 

Yet 'twas their silence breathed only this — 
'I love you.' As if flowers might say, 
'Such is our natural fragrantness;' 
Or dewdrop at the break of day 
Cry 'Thus I beam.' Each turned a head. 
And each its own clear radiance shed 
With joy and peace at play. 
46 



THE WANDERERS 

So in a gloomy London street 

Princes from Eastern realms might pause 

In secret converse, then retreat. 

Yet without haste passed these from sight; 

As if a human mind were not 

Wholly a dark and dismal spot — 

At least in their own light. 



47 



THE CORNER STONE 



OTERILE these stones 

By time in ruin laid. 

Yet many a creeping thing 

Its haven has made 

In these least crannies, were falls 

Dark's dew, and noonday shade. 

The claw of the tender bird 
Finds lodgment here; 
Dye-winged butterflies poise; 
Emmet and beetle steer 
Their busy course; the bee 
Drones, laden, near. 

Their myriad-mirrored eyes 
Great day reflect. 
By their exquisite farings 
Is this granite specked; 
Is trodden to infinite dust; 
By gnawing lichens decked. 



4S 



THE CORNER STONE 

Toward what eventual dream 

Sleeps its cold on, 

When into ultimate dark 

These lives shall be gone, 

And even of man not a shadow remain 

Of all he has done? 



49 



THE SPIRIT OF AIR 

V^ORAL and clear emerald, 
And amber from the sea, 
Lilac-coloured amethyst, 
Chalcedony ; 

The lovely Spirit of Air 
Floats on a cloud and doth ride, 
Clad in the beauties of earth 
Like a bride. 

So doth she haunt me; and words 
Tell but a tithe of the tale. 
Sings all the sweetness of Spring 
Even in the nightingale? 
Nay, but with echoes she cries 
Of the valley of love; 
Dews on the thorns at her feet. 
And darkness above. 



50 



THE UNFINISHED DREAM 



R 



ARE-SWEET the air in that unimagined 
country — 
My spirit had wandered far 
From its weary body close-enwrapt in slumber 
Where its home and earth-friends are; 

A milk-like air — and of light all abundance; 

And there a river clear 
Painting the scene like a picture on its bosom, 

Green foliage drifting near. 

No sign of life I saw, as I pressed onward, 

Fish, nor beast, nor bird. 
Till I came to a hill clothed in flowers to its summit, 

Then shrill small voices I heard. 

And I saw from concealment a company of elf -folk 

With faces strangely fair, 
Talking their unearthly scattered talk together, 

A bind of green-grasses in their hair. 



51 



THE UNFINISHED DREAM 

Marvellously gentle, feater far than children, 

In gesture, mien and speech, 
Hastening onward in translucent shafts of sun- 
shine. 

And gossiping each with each. 

Straw-light their locks, on neck and shoulder 
falling, 

Faint of almond the silks they wore, 
Spun not of worm, but as if inwoven of moonbeams 

And foam on rock-bound shore; 

Like lank-legged grasshoppers in June-tide 
meadows, 

Amalillios of the day. 
Hungrily gazed upon by me — a stranger, 

In unknown regions astray. 

Yet, happy beyond words, I marked their sunlit 
faces. 

Stealing soft enchantment from their eyes, 
Tears in my own confusing their small image, 

Harkening their bead-like cries. 



52 



THE UNFINISHED DREAM 

They passed me, unseeing, a waft of flocking linners ; 

Sadly I fared on my way; 
And came in my dream to a dreamlike habitation, 

Close-shut, festooned and grey. 

Pausing, I gazed at the porch dust-still, vine- 
wreathed, 
Worn the stone steps thereto, 
Mute hung its bell, whence a stony head looked 
downward, 
Grey 'gainst the sky's pale-blue-— 

Strange to me: strange. , . . 



53 



MUSIC 







RESTLESS fingers — not that music make! 
Bidding old griefs from out the past awake. 
And pine for memory's sake. 

Those strings thou callest from quiet mute to yearn, 
Of other hearts did hapless secrets learn, 
And thy strange skill will turn 

To uses that thy bosom dreams not of: 

Ay, summon from their dark and dreadful grove 

The chaunting, pale-cheeked votaries of love. 

Stay now, and hearken! From that far-away 
Cymbal on cymbal beats, the fierce horns bray. 
Stars in their sapphire fade, 'tis break of day. 

Green are those meads, foam-white the billow's 

crest, 
And Night, withdrawing in the cavernous West, 
Flings back her shadow on the salt sea's breast. 



54 



MUSIC 

Snake-haired, snow-shouldered, pure as flame and 

dew, 
Her strange gaze burning slumbrous eyelids 

through, 
Rises the Goddess from the wave's dark blue. 



55 



TIDINGS 



J^ilSTEN, I who love thee well 
Have travelled far, and secrets tell; 
Cold the moon that gleams thine eyes, 
Yet beneath her further skies 
Rests for thee, a paradise. 

I have plucked a flower in proof. 
Frail, in earthly light forsooth; 
See, invisible it lies 
In this palm: now veil thine eyes: 
Quaff its fragrancies. 

Would indeed my throat had skill 
To breathe thee music, faint and still- 
Music learned in dreaming deep 
In those lands, from Echo's lip . . . 
'Twould lull thy soul to sleep. 



56 



THE SON OF MELANCHOLY 



Ui 



INTO blest Melancholy's house one happy day 

I took my way: 
Into a chamber was shown, whence could be seen 
Her flowerless garden, dyed with sunlit green 

Of myrtle, box, and bay. 

Cool were its walls, shade-mottled, green and gold^ 

In heavy fold 
Hung antique tapestries, from whose fruit and 

flower 
Light had the bright hues stolen, hour by hour, 
And time worn thin and old. 

Silence, as of a virginal laid aside. 

Did there abide. 
But not for voice or music was I fain, 
Only to see a long-loved face again — 

For her sole company sighed. 

And while I waited, giving memory praise, 

My musing gaze 
Lit on the one sole picture in the room. 
Which hung, as if in hiding, in the gloom 

From evening's stealing rays. 
57 



THE SON OF MELANCHOLY 

Framed in fast-fading gilt, a child gazed there, 

Lovely and fair; 
A face whose happiness was like sunlight spent 
On some poor desolate soul in banishment. 

Mutely his grief to share. 

Long, long I stood in trance of that glad face, 

Striving to trace 
The semblance that, disquieting, it bore 
To one whom memory could not restore, 

Nor fix in time and space. 

Sunk deep in brooding thus, a voice I heard 

Whisper its word: 
I turned — and, stooping in the threshold, stood 
She — the dark mistress of my solitude. 
Who smiled, nor stirred. 

Her ghost gazed darkly from her pondering eyes 

Charged with surmise; 
Challenging mine, between mockery and fear. 
She breathed her greeting, ''Thou, my only dear! 

Wherefore such heavy sighs?* 



58 



THE SON OF MELANCHOLY 

'But this?' One instant lids her scrutiny veiled; 

Her wan cheek paled. 
*This child?' I asked. 'Its picture brings to mind 
Remembrance faint and far, past thought to find, 

And yet by time unstaled.' 

Smiling, aloof, she turned her narrow head, 
'Make thou my face thy glass,' she cried and said. 
'What would'st thou see therein — thine own, or 

mine? 
foolish one, what wonder thou did'st pine? 

Long thou hast loved me; yet hast absent been* 
See now: Dark night hath pressed an entrance in. 
Jealous! thou dear? Nay, come; by taper's beam 
Share thou this pictured Joy with me, though 
nought but a dream.' 



59 



THE QUIET ENEMY 



H 



EARKEN — now the hermit bee 
Drones a quiet thren dy ; 
Greening on the stagnant pool 
The criss-cross light slants silken-cool; 
In the venomed yew tree wings 
Preen and flit. The linnet sings. 

Gradually the brave sun 
Drops to a day's journey done; 
In the marshy flats abide 
Mists to muffle midnight-tide. 
Puffed within the belfry tower 
Hungry owls drowse out their hour. . 

Walk in beauty. Vaunt thy rose. 
Flaunt thy transient loveliness. 
Pace for pace with thee there goes 
A shape that hath not come to bless. 

I thine enemy? . . . Nay, nay. 
I can only watch and wait 
Patient treacherous time away. 
Hold ajar the wicket gate. 
60 



THE FAMILIAR 



'A> 



uRE you far away?' 
'Yea, I am far — far; 
Where the green wave shelves to the sand, 
And the rainbows are; 
And an ageless sun beats fierce 
From an empty sky: 
There, thou Shadow forlorn, 
Is the wraith of thee, I.' 

*Are you happy, most Lone?' 

'Happy, forsooth! 

Who am eyes of the air; voice of the foam; 

Ah, happy in truth. 

My hair is astream, this cheek 

Glistens like silver, and see. 

As the gold to the dross, the ghost in the mirk, 

I am calling to thee.' 



61 



THE FAMILIAR 

'Nay, I am bound. 

And your cry faints out in my mind. 

Peace not on earth have I found, 

Yet to earth am resigned. 

Cease thy shrill mockery, Voice, 

Nor answer again.' 

'0 Master, thick cloud shuts thee out 

And cold tempests of rain.' 



62 



MAERCHEN 

OOUNDLESS the moth-flit, crisp the death-watch 

tick; 
Crazed in her shaken arbour bird did sing; 
Slow wreathed the grease adown from soot-clogged 
wick: 
The Cat looked long and softly at the King. 

Mouse frisked and scampered, leapt, gnawed, 

squeaked ; 
Small at the window looped cowled bat a-wing; 
The dim-lit rafters with the night-mist reeked: 
The Cat looked long and softly at the King. 

wondrous robe enstarred, in night dyed deep: 
air scarce-stirred with the Court's far junketing: 
stagnant Royalty — A-swoon? Asleep? 
The Cat looked long and softly at the King. 



63 



GOLD 

Sighed the wind to the wheat: — 

*The Queen who is slumbering there, 

Once bewildered the rose ; 

Scorned, "Thou un-fair!" 

Once, from that bird-whirring court. 

Ascended the ruinous stair. 

Aloft, on that weed-hung turret, suns 

Smote on her hair — 

Of a gold by Archiac sought. 

Of a gold sea-hid. 

Of a gold that from core of quartz 

No flame shall bid 

Pour into light of the air 

For God's Jews to see.' 

Mocked the wheat to the wind — 
'Kiss me! Kiss me!' 



64 



MIRAGE 

And burned the topless towers of Ilium 



Sti 



?RANGE fabled face! From sterile shore to 
shore 
O'er plungmg seas, thick-sprent with glistening 
brine, 
The voyagers of the World with sail and heavy oar 
Have sought thy shrine. 
Beauty inexorable hath lured them on: 
Remote unnamed stars enclustering gleam — 
Burn in thy flowered locks, though creeping day- 
break wan 

Prove thee but dream. 

Noonday to night the enigma of thine eyes 
Frets with desire their travel-wearied brain. 
Till in the vast of dark the ice-cold moon arise 
And pour them peace again; 
And with malign mirage uprears an isle 
Of fountain and palm, and courts of jasmine and 
rose. 
Whence far decoy of siren throats their souls be- 
guile, 

And maddening fragrance flows. 

65 



MIRAGE 

Lo, in the milken light, in tissue of gold 
Thine apparition gathers in the air — 
Nay, but the seas are deep, and the round world old. 
And thou art named, Despair. 



66 



FLOTSAM 



OCREAMED the far sea-mew. On the mirror- 
ing sands 
Bell-shrill the oyster-catchers. Burned the sky. 
Couching my cheeks upon my sun-scorched hands, 
Down from bare rock I gazed. The sea swung by. 

Dazzling dark blue and verdurous, quiet with snow. 
Empty with loveliness, with music a-roar. 
Her billowing summits heaving noon-aglow — 
Crashed the Atlantic on the cliff-ringed shore. 

Drowsed by the tumult of that moving deep, 
Sense into outer silence fainted, fled; 
And rising softly, from the fields of sleep, 
Stole to my eyes a lover from the dead; 

Crying an incantation — learned. Where? When? . . 
White swirled the foam, a fount, a blinding gleam 
Of ice-cold breast, cruel eyes, wild mouth — and 

then 
A still dirge echoing on from dream to dream. 



67 



MOURN'ST THOU NOW? 

LjONG ago from radiant palace. 
Dream-bemused, in flood of moon, 
Stole the princess Seraphita 
Into forest gloom. 

Wail of hemlock; cold the dewdrops; 
Danced the Dryads in the chace; 
Heavy hung ambrosial fragrance; 
Moonbeams blanched her ravished face. 

Frail and clear the notes delusive; 
Mocking phantoms in a rout 
Thridded the night-cloistered thickets, 
Wove their sorceries in and out. . . . 

Mourn'st thou now? Or do thine eyelids 
Frame a vision dark, divine, 
O'er this imp of star and wild-flower — 
Of a god once thine? 



68 



THE GALLIASS 

X ELL me, lell me, 

Unknown stranger, 
When shall I sight me 

That tall ship 
On whose flower-wreathed counter is gilded, 
Sleep?' 

'Landsman, landsman. 
Lynx nor kestrel 
Ne'er shall descry from 
Ocean steep 
That midnight-stealing, high-pooped galliass, Sleeps 

'Promise me, Stranger, 
Though I mark not 
When cold night-tide's 

Shadows creep, 
Thou wilt keep unwavering watch for Sleep." 

'Myriad the lights are. 
Wayworn landsman, 
Rocking the dark through 
On the deep: 
She alone burns none to prove her Sleep' 
69 



THE DECOY 



T. 



ELL us, pilgrim, what strange She 
Lures and decoys your wanderings on? 
Cheek, eye, brow, lip, you scan each face. 
Smile, ponder — and are gone. 

'Are we not flesh and blood? Mark well. 
We touch you with our hands. We speak 
A tongue that may earth's secrets tell: 
Why further will you seek?' 

'Far have I come, and far must fare. 
Noon and night and morning-prime, 
I search the long road, bleak and bare, 
That fades away in Time. 

'On the world's brink its wild weeds shake. 
And there my own dust, dark with dew, 
Burns with a rose that, sleep or wake, 
Beacons me — "Follow true!'" 

'Her name, crazed soul? And her degree? 
What peace, prize, profit in her breast?' 
'A thousand cheating names hath she; 
And none fore-tokens rest.' 
70 



SUNK LYONESSE 



I 



N sea-cold Lyonesse, 
When the Sabbath eve shafts down 
On the roofs, walls, belfries 
Of the foundered town, 
The Nereids pluck their lyres 
Where the green translucency beats, 
And with motionless eyes at gaze 
Make minstrelsy in the streets. 

And the ocean water stirs 
In salt- worn casemate and porch. 
Plies the blunt-snouted fish 
With fire in his skull for torch. 
And the ringing wires resound; 
And the uneiarthly lovely weep. 
In lament of the music they make 
In the sullen courts of sleep: 

Whose marble flowers bloom for aye: 
And — lapped by the moon-guiled tide — 
Mock their carver with heart of stone, 
Caged in his stone-ribbed side. 



71 



THE CATECHISM 



n. 



.AST thou then nought wiser to bring 
Than worn-out songs of moon and rose?' 
'Cracked my voice and broken my wing, 
God knows.' 

'Tell'st thou no truth of the life that is; 
Seek'st thou from heaven no pitying sign?' 
'Ask thine own heart these mysteries, 
Not mine.' 

'Where then the faith thou hast brought to seed? 
Where the sure hope thy soul would feign?' 
'Never ebbed sweetness — even out of a weed — 
In vain.' 

'Fool. The night comes. . . . 'Tis late. Arise: 
Cold lap the waters of Jordan stream.' 
'Deep be their flood and tranquil thine eyes 
With a dream.' 



72 



FUTILITY 

OiNK, thou strange heart, unto thy rest. 
Pine now no more, to pine in vain. 
Doth not the moon on heaven's breast 
Call the floods home again? 

Doth not the summer faint at last? 
Do not her restless rivers flow 
When that her transient day is past 
To hide them in ice and snow? 

All this — thy world — an end shall make; 

Planet to sun return again; 

The universe, to sleep from wake, 

In a last peace remain. 

Alas, the futility of care 

That, spinning thought to thought, doth weave 

An idle argument on the air 

We love not, nor believe. 



73 



BITTER WATERS 



I 



N a dense wood, a drear wood, 
Dark water is flowing; 
Deep, deep, beyond sounding, 
A flood ever flowing. 

There harbours no wild bird, 

No wanderer strays there; 
breathed in mist, sheds pale Ishtar 

Her sorrowful rays there. 

Take thy net; cast thy line; 

Manna sweet be thy baiting; 
Time's desolate ages 

Shall still find thee waiting 

For quick fish to rise there, 

Or butterfly wooing, 
Or flower's honeyed beauty. 

Or wood-pigeon cooing. 

Inland wellsprings are sweet; 

But to lips, parched and dry. 
Salt, salt is the savour 

Of these; faint their sigh. 

74 



BITTER WATERS 

Bitter Babylon's waters. 

Zion, distant and fair. 
We hanged up our harps 

On the trees that are there. 



75 



WHO? 

1st stranger. W ho walks with us on the hills? 

2nd STRANGER. I cannot see for the mist. 

3rd STRANGER. Running water I hear, 

Keeping lugubrious tryst 

With its cresses and grasses and 

weeds. 
In the white obscure light from 
the sky. 

2nd STRANGER. Who walks with us on the hills? 

WILD BIRD. Ay ! ... Aye \ . . . Ay ! . . , 



76 



A RIDDLE 



JL HE mild noon air of Spring again 
Lapped shimmering in that sea-lulled lane. 
Hazel was budding; wan as snow 
The leafless blackthorn was a-blow. 

A chaffinch clankt, a robin woke 
An eerie stave in the leafless oak. 
Green mocked at green; lichen and moss 
The rain-worn slate did softly emboss. 

From out her winter lair, at sigh 
Of the warm South wind, a butterfly 
Stepped, quaff'ed her honey; on painted fan 
Her labyrinthine flight began. 

Wondrously solemn, golden and fair, 
The high sun's rays beat everywhere; 
Yea, touched my cheek and mouth, as if, 
Equal with stone, to me 'twould give 
Its light and life. 



77 



A RIDDLE 

O restless thought 
Contented not. With 'Why' distraught. 
Whom asked you then your riddle small ?- 
'If hither came no man at all 

'Through this grey-green, sea-haunted lane, 
Would it mere blackened nought remain? 
Strives it this beauty and life to express 
Only in human consciousness?' 

Oh, rather, idly breaks he in 
To an Eden innocent of sin; 
And, prouder than to be afraid. 
Forgets his Maker in the made. 



78 



THE OWL 

What if to edge of dream, 
When the spirit is come, 
Shriek the hunting owl, 
And summon it home — 
To the fear-stirred heart 
And the ancient dread 
Of man, when cold root or stone 
Pillowed roofless head? 

Clangs not at last the hour 

When roof shelters not; 

And the ears are deaf, 

And all fears forgot: 

Since the spirit too far has fared 

For summoning scream 

Of any strange fowl on earth 

To shatter its dream? 



79 



THE LAST COACHLOAD 

(To Colin) 



c 



R ASHED through the woods that lumbering 
Coach. The dust 
Of flinted roads bepowdering felloe and hood. 
Its gay paint cracked, its axles red with rust, 
It lunged, lurched, toppled through a solitude 

Of whispering boughs, and feathery, nid-nod grass. 
Plodded the fetlocked horses. Glum and mum, 
Its ancient Coachman recked not where he was. 
Nor into what strange haunt his wheels were come. 

Crumbling the leather of his dangling reins; 
Worn to a cow's tuft his stumped, idle whip; 
Sharp eyes of beast and bird in the trees' green 

lanes 
Gleamed out like stars above a derelict ship. 



80 



THE LAST COACHLOAD 

*OId Father Time — Time — Time!' jeered twit- 
tering throat. 
A squirrel capered on the leader's rump, 
Slithered a weasel, peered a thieflike stoat, 
In sandy warren beat on the coney's thump. 

Mute as a mammet in his saddle sate 
The hunched Postilion, clad in magpie trim; 
Buzzed the bright flies around his hairless pate; 
Yaffle and jay squawked mockery at him. 

Yet marvellous peace and amity breathed there. 
Tranquil the labyrinths of this sundown wood. 
Musking its chaces, bloomed the brier-rose fair; 
Spellbound as if in trance the pine-trees stood. 

Through moss, and pebbled rut, the wheels rasped 

on; 
That Ancient drowsing on his box. And still 
The bracken track with glazing sunbeams shone; 
Laboured the horses, straining at the hill. . . . 

But now — a verdurous height with eve-shade 

sweet; 
Far, far to West the Delectable Mountains glowed. 
Above, Night's canopy; at the horses' feet 
A sea-like honied waste of flowers flowed. 



81 



THE LAST COACHLOAD 

There fell a pause of utter quiet. And — 
Out from one murky window glanced an eye, 
Stole from the other a lean, groping hand, 
The padded door swung open with a sigh. 

And — Exeunt Omnes! None to ask the fare — 
A myriad human Odds in a last release 
Leap out incontinent, snuff the incensed air; 
A myriad parched-up voices whisper, 'Peace.' 

On, on, and on — a stream, a flood, they flow. 
wondrous vale of jocund buds and bells! 
Like vanishing smoke the rainbow legions 

glow. 
Yet still the enravished concourse sweeps and 

swells. 

All journeying done. Rest now from lash and 

spur — 
Laughing and weeping, shoulder and elbow — 

'twould seem 
That Coach capacious all Infinity were. 
And these the fabulous figments of a dream. 



82 



THE LAST COACHLOAD 

Mad for escape; frenzied each breathless mote, 
Lest rouse the Old Enemy from his death-still 

swoon, 
Lest crack that whip again — they fly, they float. 
Scamper, breathe — 'Paradise!' abscond, are 

gone. . . . 



83 



AN EPITAPH 



liAJ 



lST, Stone, a little yet; 
And then this dust forget. 
But thou, fair Rose, bloom on. 
For she who is gone 

Was lovely too; nor would she grieve to be 
Sharing in solitude her dreams with thee. 



84 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: June 2009 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
(724)779-2111 



MAR 



22 1922 



